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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536124">you know what they do to (girls?) like us in prison</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/atat/pseuds/atat'>atat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asshole!Villanelle, Bank heists!, F/F, Flirting, Prison AU, Slow Burn, Unhinged woman!Eve, bad dreams!, shitty title is shitty on purpose. ok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:02:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/atat/pseuds/atat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“So... What are you in for?”</p><p>“I killed JFK.” Villanelle deadpans.</p><p>“Right.” </p><p>or</p><p>prison shenanigans featuring: eventual murder wives, the Russian Pals Bank Robber Gang™ and uhh... lots more!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my first attempt at multi-chapter fic and i honestly don't know how y'all do it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle’s eyes sting with the flash. She smells gunpowder and human fear and she is in her element. Lets the instincts take her over.</p><p>They are inside in a second, quick quick- she fires a shot into the air, says her practiced lines, can’t help the grin that threatens to tear the fabric of her balaclava. They know she’s serious. They better. If not, oh well. She is not unused to a little bit of shooting her way through things.</p><p>There aren’t too many people here, as they calculated, but a bank of this profile still has customers at any time. They all wobble to the ground, clutching their heads. Probably wishing for it to be over already. For once not relating to that particular feeling, instead, she lights up at their panic. But she is not here for them.</p><p>Nadia gets behind the big counter, to the corner of the high-ceiling, marble dominated, well-lit room, points her own gun to the face of the man laying down there. Villanelle can only see from above his midriff, but he’s wearing what looks like an expensive suit and now it’s going to be all dirty from the floor. Poor thing. He splutters some pleas and she is already bored. Nadia fires a shot right next to his leg. He is crying now, but gives them some directions. Good.</p><p>They go to where he pointed them, all the way to the back, and she says to her earpiece, “You are getting shit at this, Konstantin. Couldn’t even get this one’s blueprint. Good thing we are sensational to make up for it, hm?”</p><p>Nadia gives her a sort of pained look, only eyes visible, that is probably meant to do something. It doesn’t.</p><p>She hears arguing, coming from the earpiece, and knows it’s probably Irina giving him shit. Bless her and her annoyingness.</p><p>Villanelle pulls out a thermal lancer, with its little oxygen tube along with the explosives from her bag with a grin to her -(what the fuck is Nadia to her?) companion. They packed a lot of explosives for this, and she sets them up on the front of the largest vault, quickly, generously. They step away from the range of it, and Villanelle presses the button.</p><p>The explosion brings some more choked gasps and little cries that she can only hear distantly now, which is a pity, but you can’t have <em>all</em> the finer things in life.</p><p>She throws some explosives to Nadia who looks a little alarmed at how she manages them. You’d think she’d be used to it by now. Villanelle takes the lancer, puts on the protective gear quickly and works at melting up a hole big enough for her to pass through the now black-stained reinforced steel.</p><p>Konstantin says by her ear, “10 more minutes.” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know” Villanelle mutters, trying not to lose her focus. These things are very dangerous, Konstantin, have some consideration.</p><p>It’s still plenty of time for Nadia to set up the other explosives, with her own thermal lancer in hand, to another similar-sized vault, far enough that Villanelle doesn’t have to move from her task. By the time she hears the clang of the metal falling through the inside of her vault, Nadia explodes the other one.</p><p>This part, she likes. A lot. Well, she likes all of the sections of their careful, practiced process, but this part- seeing all of the stacks and stacks of pure living cash, she <em>loves.</em> Almost as much as she loves <em>taking</em> and spending all of it.</p><p>Despite the daydreams of a new closet in a brand new lux apartment somewhere, she works quickly, taking the stacks, putting them into the bag. She hears the clang of steel of Nadia’s vault door falling down.</p><p>By the time she’s finished, the room is almost squeaky clean, save a few little stacks that she doesn’t care about when she has a bag this full and time this short.</p><p>“5 more minutes” Villanelle says, timing it so her voice is in unison with Konstantin’s, making him give a loud bark of laughter. She likes his laugh.</p><p>She steps closer to where Nadia is, bangs with her hand against the door. “Let’s go, we still need to get out of here”</p><p>“Finished” Nadia says, with her own bag now full. </p><p>They are already glowing, from the almost successfully completed heist, and Villanelle wonders briefly if they’re going to fuck tonight. They sometimes do, when the champagne takes them over and the thrill of it hasn’t yet worn off fully, deciding to indulge some more. She hopes they don’t. She’s getting tired of it, already, thinks she might pick up some other woman instead to ride out the delicious, charged aftermaths of first degree larceny. Nadia’s too soft and sweet and eager- which wasn’t a problem when, after all, she was the only one who actually knew the excitement and the life-threatening circumstances they choose to go through. But it just won’t be enough for tonight. Villanelle's pulse thrums and buzzes with adrenaline.</p><p>With that brief decision out of the way, she takes Nadia’s hand and drags them through to the outside of the vault room, to where the people are starting to look not-so-uncomfortable anymore. Well that just won’t do. She hears police sirens just outside of the building, pulling over. <em>That</em> won’t do either. They knew it would be risky, for once throwing themselves to it instead of planning the whole thing to hell and back, but they just <em>had</em> to pick this bank, the one where the only way in and out they knew was the front fucking door. Oh well. Time to start shooting.</p><p>“There’s police here already!” Nadia says to Konstantin, useless, piece of shit Konstantin.</p><p>“Shit. Can you deal with them?” At least he has the decency to sound a little embarrassed. She imagines it, like an epitaph on her gravestone: When their ass got finally handed to them, at least Konstantin was embarrassed. What a treat.</p><p>“Let’s hope so, yes?” Villanelle snarls through gritted teeth.</p><p>She takes cover behind one of the pillars, thanks God for westerners’ petty obsession with ancient greeks, for once in her life, just as a shot rings right past her.</p><p>Nadia is behind her own pillar, on the opposite side of her.</p><p>She hears the policemen yelling into a megaphone and thinks of shrieking pigs.</p><p>Keeping her assault rifle down, she ducks a little bit outside the cover to assess how many, how far, and is thrown back by another shot. It chips at the pillar, crumbs all over the floor. Well, shit. The glance showed her enough.</p><p>“Konstantin, are you still at the spot?” Villanelle asks, a little nervously.</p><p>Before he can answer, Nadia also tries doing a brief assessment, that ends up being not brief enough. They were ready for her little head to pop up. Her body collapses backwards, violently, the shot in her forehead already starting to soak the pristine white flooring. What the fuck. Since when is the police that good of a shot? Fuck fuck fuck. Her options are running very low. Villanelle is mainly frustrated by the death of her companion, knows the odds are stacking against her more heavily now, threatening to bury her. She prefers to work alone, anyway, but she had to admit having Nadia around for shoot-outs was useful. Shit.</p><p>Konstantin starts saying something before Villanelle cuts him off with “It’s gone to shit. Leave.”</p><p>She decides to return fire, blindly, not getting out from her cover besides a little bit of her arm.</p><p>Irina’s voice pipes up, “What? We’re not just leaving you there!”</p><p>Villanelle is fucking furious. It was not meant to be like this. Fuck this. This is <em>not</em> how she’s going to go. But there's no way they can help her now, anything they do would just make it worse. If she's the only one caught, at least the rest of their money is safe. Even if she's not there to enjoy it. Ugh.</p><p>“Listen to me. You need to leave. Nadia’s dead. There’s too many of them.”</p><p>Villanelle fires again, from behind the pillar and thinks she manages to hit a cop, his loud shriek filling her with a little rush of small victory. She scours the floor of the bank, sees a girl, one of the bank’s customers, close to her, completely immobile except for little trembles from where she’s laying. Calculates distance and time and throws it all away, reaching for her ankle and dragging her closer. She’s white enough and probably rich enough that the cops will mind her getting caught in the cross-fire, so Villanelle will use her.</p><p>“Fuck, Villanelle!” She hears him hit something. “Fuck. Are you sure-” Konstantin says, and he actually sounds like he’s in pain. God, fuck him.</p><p>“Come back for me, you arsehole. You better come back for me or I will haunt you forever, I swear.”</p><p>He says nothing, but she knows he heard her. Probably. The line cuts off.</p><p>Villanelle drags the girl closer to her, making her stand up on shaky legs. She whimpers with fear and Villanelle can't even enjoy it. She gets a smaller handgun she had stashed in a holster, by her thigh. Holds it up to the side of the girl’s head.</p><p>The most important decisions of her life are always rushed. This was too fast. She thinks briefly of what-ifs, of possible other outcomes to this day other than this. They don't matter anymore. She's here now, and she's fucked. It tastes bitter. She barely got a chance to travel. She hasn't been to Japan yet. Or South America. Their base at Berlin, with its high ceilings, hardwood floor and big, big windows waves a sullen goodbye to her. She fucking <em>refuses</em> to go down without a fight. </p><p>Villanelle takes in a deep breath and steps out of the cover.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i played with the idea of bank-robber Villanelle for a while and it wouldn't let me go, so have this chapter in which i try to write a scene based solely on GTA V bank heist missions.</p><p>lemme know what you think of this AU! comments are everything.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>staring. assumptions. villanelle likes penguins.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>let the prison shenanigans... begin?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So... What are you in for?”</p><p>“I killed JFK.” Villanelle deadpans.</p><p>“Right.” </p><p>The woman in front of her radiates nervous energy. Almost tempting, this new blood on previously clear (if a bit shitty) prison water, calling out for all the sharks in the room. She fiddles a little with the plastic fork. Villanelle does love new blood. Anyone not yet broken down by the suffocating fading yellow prison walls, the jaded iron of the bars. It’s next to the only fun she gets to have here. Someone new to play with. Most are plain disappointments, but that’s people for you. The woman is American, like most of the other inmates. Serves Villanelle right for getting caught in the U.S., with no trace of her previous citizenship that the dicks in charge of her case were capable of finding. She was supposed to be invisible. Invincible. She feels it less now. She is trapped in a shit country with shit food and living conditions and it’s truly the worst case scenario.</p><p>Her resignation to keeping her head down and doing her time has barely poked its ugly head in since she arrived, but Villanelle thinks she might be going soft. She wonders what the hell this woman was thinking by choosing to sit next to her, on her first day. It’s probably because Villanelle sits alone. She should’ve known better.</p><p>But, if she’s being honest, any distraction at this point, anything beyond her Tolstoy and her weekly running time is welcome.</p><p>“What is your name?” She asks, trying to accommodate the other woman for a little while. A predator hiding their fangs, they are just normal teeth for now, thank you very much.</p><p>“Alana.” Villanelle raises her brow at the woman’s first name, expecting. They don’t have much of a habit of first-name basis here. Ah, new blood. </p><p>“Oh. Uh- Sullivan. Sorry.” She gives a little skittish laugh. </p><p>Villanelle hums in response. Returns to pick at her god-awful grub. She wonders what she did to end up here, but won’t ask. Doesn’t really want to know. This woman is as plain as the brick walls that surround them, almost at all times of the day.</p><p>She yearns for freedom everyday. It keeps her thinking on her feet. Clutches the remnants of her life with a death-grip. She misses all of it, the jet lag of traveling, a heavy head and sleep deprivation. Opulent hotels. Luxurious, bubbling, expensive champagne, the taste of alcohol and the lightheaded buzz she got out of it. The smell of money, slightly nasty and distasteful, like herself. Clothes beyond her disgusting uniform. Silk robes. Linen sheets. Big guns and loud explosions. Some nights she may even miss Irina’s incessant chattering, bragging in whatever language she’s picking up now. Konstantin’s gruff tone. Nadia’s smooth skin. But fuck them. Villanelle never lets the thoughts of her comrades get very far.</p><p>Letting her waste away at a prison is probably the single stupidest thing the universe has ever done. What a gigantic misuse. Villanelle is made for days of focused (illicit) work, and nights of indulgence in all the finer things. She is good at it. Or at least she thought she was. One slip is really all it took, in their line of work. Just a few minutes away from a margin of error, badly calculated. Shitty Konstantin.</p><p>Here, there are books, and rec-time, doing stretches and push-ups in the small space of her cell, keeping herself in shape, body and mind. Here there are scuffles with the other inmates, asserting her dominance, establishing her status as lone, (dangerous) wolf. She hasn’t received any letters.</p><p>She has nothing in here, if not her desire to leave this horrid stalemate of a life.</p><p>She makes no other attempts at conversation and the woman looks even more uncomfortable. She can barely gloat at it, it’s so boring.</p><p>Villanelle gets ready for an escape plan that doesn’t come. So, instead, she watches the new batch of people filter in. Sardines in a tin can. It’s getting cramped.</p>
<hr/><p>It is a few days later, and Villanelle is on her way to another one of the mandatory (for her, at least) group therapy sessions. She figures most inmates are required to attend, especially those with violent tendencies, or, you know, conviction for non-boring crimes. They are, admittedly, also a major source of fun while being here. She’s already exhausted the patience of everyone involved by the third session or so, refusing to be anything close to honest whenever she was compelled to speak. The doctor, (ugh, <em>Nelson</em>) is a greying man who refuses to indulge in any of her incredibly narrated heartfelt stories of misery and tragedy, each week a different one. Which is definitely a plus, so she can see how much further she can push him.</p><p>Last week, she gave an Oscar-winning performance about her passion for king penguins, how they deserved freedom, and a space in her future support group. How they needed freedom so much, were victims of such senseless injustice, that she decided to engage in a very ambitious heist to save all the poor, incarcerated king penguins in the world. Nelson cut her off after the first 3 minutes or so. She counted how many women rolled their eyes and it was truly a new record. Satisfying.</p><p>Today, her fellow inmates all take a seat, on the now slightly larger circle of chairs, with a big space in the middle. She once thought of it as a weird set-up, like there was something they were meant to be watching instead of each other. But oh. There are new people here, she realizes. Three new women, including the one she met at the cafeteria, all scattered around the circle. Something new to watch.</p><p>One of them, a woman sitting next to Dr. Nelson, had her hair tied-up, which hardly did anything to contain it, her face a combination of desolate and... challenging? Villanelle tries to see more, trying to read this woman accurately. There aren’t very many cues she can get with the distance and the baggy clothes, though, so she settles for just curious gazing. She’s pretty. Looks like she’s been through hell. She remembers the chatter from the other women, in the showers, in the dining room, rumors about one of the newcomers being a former cop. That’s probably not her. Something about her just doesn’t say cop.</p><p>Nelson is talking now, something about being accommodating to the new inmates, and his voice drawls on. He has a distinct confidence in his tone that doesn’t necessarily come with being a professional, a self-assurance that she’s found profoundly insufferable since she first attended. It’s got to have come from years in academia, little pats on the back from all the other intellectuals. She wonders if with their degree, these men also got written permission to be complete fucking pricks. Or maybe it’s just a result of being in a position of power next to all these admittedly dangerous women, all day. Exhausting. </p><p>“Any one of the new inmates want to share? Introduce yourselves? No need to be shy!” </p><p>The one with the hair, next to him, looks pointedly at the ground. Her jaw seems to be clenched. Anger issues, maybe? That could be fun. Something about her reeks of a kind of life different from the other inmates. She doesn’t fit in here. Villanelle hopes she’ll say something.</p><p>The woman from the cafeteria chimes in.</p><p>“Um.. Okay, I’ll say something. Hello. My name is Alana.”</p><p>“Hi, Alana” Villanelle says, along with the group, not taking her eyes from the woman next to Nelson. She looks up, meets eyes with Villanelle, and time stops.</p><p>Sullivan is talking now, but Villanelle does not listen to anything beyond her own heartbeat. Everything feels kind of in a standstill. She is swimming in the dark pool of the woman’s eyes. What she sees there nearly takes her breath away, and she can’t even tell why. Her expression looks a little… eerie. The woman meets the gaze, unwaveringly, and Villanelle barely resists the urge to wink.</p><p>They continue to stare at each other. The only clue that time is passing at all, is a small twitch of the woman’s cheek. Nervousness? Fury? Villanelle does not know. She wants to know. After some time, she has truly no idea how much of it- Villanelle is stunned at seeing the other woman move, as if she was a statue, sculpted in ivory, to be looked at. The motion startles her, and she hopes it doesn’t show too obviously on her face. It had felt like a private show, an art exposition just for her. The woman’s mouth opens. She’s going to talk. It’s only then that she thinks that Sullivan has probably stopped talking, then. Maybe this’ll be even better. Oh Villanelle cannot <em>wait-</em></p><p>“Hi. I’m Eve.” Eve. She stands up to speak, finally tearing her eyes from Villanelle’s to look to the other people in the room. There’s other people in the room. The idea feels absolutely laughable, so Villanelle laughs, quietly. The woman’s- Eve’s- eyes dart towards her when she laughs, but turns away quickly. Her eyes not on Villanelle have an unusual effect on her, though, like a physical thing to her gut.</p><p>“Hi, Eve” Villanelle says, her mouth widening to a smile, all sharp edges. A little delayed from the rest of the voices. Eve looks at her again, briefly, and Villanelle will admit when she’s entranced. Because she is. Her name fits well against Villanelle’s mouth. Monosyllabic, succinct, like a single note. What is it about this woman?</p><p>“And, uh… I don’t know why I’m here. Or-or I <em>do</em> know, but it feels… stupid. Like it’s a shitty dream that I’ll wake up and forget about in a few minutes.” The woman creases her eyebrows and Villanelle is mesmerized.</p><p>“So, there.” Eve says, and sits back down, gaze back on Villanelle’s. She gets the sudden, powerful urge to cross the room, to tackle her to the ground, to look some more. To talk to her, perhaps. Or maybe she’d just look. It feels fucking weird. Who the <em>hell</em> is Eve. Why wouldn’t she say more? Villanelle thinks that was somehow even better than just the staring.</p><p>When the session is over, she follows Eve with her eyes, unabashed. She nearly runs out when Nelson thanks them for coming, and Villanelle frowns at her back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it's tough writing so many scenes at once, bc i'm almost always not satisfied w it fully at first. but i also need to move on. finding that balance and learning to move on when it is only good enough and not perfect has been a Journey. the trick is, really, to just write.</p><p> i hope y'all liked this chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time she sees Eve, she’s at the yard, for rec-time. It’s… almost nice when she gets to see other people beyond her smelly roommate, whom she decidedly does not talk to. It’s <em>definitely</em> nice to finally see Eve again, already locking eyes with dark, curly hair, and a small frame. The yard is only available to her once a week. She hasn’t seen Eve during meals, thinks she’s probably in a different eating shift. Their yard time appears to be the same. Fucking finally.</p><p>Usually, she just runs, doing laps on the freed up space. Today she will not run. </p><p>Eve is sitting, facing one of the barbed wire topped fences, at the very limits of the property. She’s nursing a cigarette, does a poor job of hiding it. Do the guards not see her? Villanelle hopes not. A trip to solitary for contraband would make things sour, leave her festering with this…<em>thing</em> for even longer. It’s barely been a few days, and Villanelle thinks she might have lost her mind already.</p><p>Eve does not look less like she went to hell and back, and Villanelle does not feel less enthralled.</p><p>She is alone. Villanelle wonders how she got the smoke, if she has connections already. Villanelle is going by the assumption that it’s her first rodeo at federal prison. Is she just scary enough? How did she get trust? Villanelle can only hope she got it from another one of the inmates and not one of the guards. Recoils heavily at the thought. Gross.</p><p>By the time she realizes where her feet are taking her, she’s already standing right behind Eve. Whoops. Like a moth to the flame. Or similarly dangerous and spiky magnets. A large lion to a pound of fresh meat. She will figure out which serves them better.</p><p>Eve turns towards her, widens her eyes a little when she sees who it is. She looks cute when she’s surprised. Villanelle stomps the thought down, tries to act cool. She can’t remember the last time a person did this to her. Whatever <em>this</em> is.</p><p>“How did you get that?” Villanelle asks. </p><p>Villanelle is very aware of the highlighted consonants in her speech, wonders if Eve will be afraid. Most Americans are unnerved by Russians, in her experience. Especially of her, especially here. Her inmate reputation seems to revolve around it, the soviet antisocial freak. She doesn’t mind it, if it keeps away unwanted attention.</p><p>“What do <em>you</em> care?” Eve responds, a mix of confusion and dismissiveness.</p><p>Villanelle tests the limits of her own willpower by not allowing a smile that would surely crack her face wide open. Not afraid, then. Fun. She’s not scared of Villanelle, even though she probably should. She thinks a little bit about what that could mean about Eve. She’s not stupid. Maybe just reckless. Definitely a little bit unhinged. She sticks out from the pack, most of the other women here with a seemingly long history of neglect, of living at the margins of society for so long. Eve looks perfectly well-adjusted, coming from a good life. She almost can picture her walking around the streets of London. Of New York, maybe, late for work. She looks completely normal, boring, save for her prison uniform. And a slight look she gets in her eye sometimes, that Villanelle had a glimpse of in group. She wants to see it again, a clenched jaw and a cold front. Asks herself how to get her to show it to Villanelle, extending it with bloodied hands. Whatever it is Eve did to get here, Villanelle hopes it was <em>gruesome</em>, hopes to get to relive it through her sometime.</p><p>“I don’t.” She does smile, then. But only a little bit. She sits down next to Eve. Lets her eyes fall over her right hand, the one with the cigarette, taking note of a wedding band. Hm. Her hair is still tied up. Villanelle wishes she could see it in its full glory. It looks like it’d be glorious.</p><p>Eve looks at her. She looks very confused. She hesitantly offers the cigarette to Villanelle. </p><p>“Oh, no, I don’t smoke.” Villanelle declines. “But thank you, Eve.” </p><p>Eve keeps her gaze on Villanelle. It feels nice. She likes that. </p><p>“What do you want, then?” </p><p>Villanelle stares straight back. She can’t remember if it’s a normal thing that people do, to look so intently while speaking to someone. It’s not normal for her. Eve is right next to her, though. What else can she do, besides look and look, try to figure her out. She’s definitely not in here for drugs, or gang crime. Is she a sex-trafficker? A pedophile? Maybe the owner of a sexy illegal nightclub. She pointedly ignores Eve’s question. </p><p>“You shouldn’t just offer to share that with anyone. These things are very precious here. You are new, though, so I get it. Is there a saying in America about feeding stray dogs? That it will just make them come back for more?”</p><p>“I didn’t offer it to anyone. You’re the girl from group.” Eve takes another drag. It’s almost reaching the filter. </p><p>“Villanelle.”</p><p>Eve lets the butt of the cigarette fall, stomps it out with the disgusting flats they make them wear. She drops her gaze to the name tag, on Villanelle’s right breast atop the khaki shirt. Eve raises a brow. It does not say Villanelle. Eve is smart. She is observant. What conclusions did she reach about Villanelle, already?</p><p>“Why do you not wear your hair down? It looks trapped. Set it free, Eve.”</p><p>Eve chuckles. It’s a raspy thing, and it feels a little sour, but Villanelle barely holds her jaw from gaping like a fish by clenching her teeth. She hopes, desperately that Eve’s not doing time for something boring. Tax-evader. Corrupt politician. She almost deflates at the thought. That would be the let-down of a lifetime.</p><p>“Really. Does that line ever work?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Does it?” Villanelle replies a little too quickly, even winks, and she wants to kick herself for not thinking of anything even slightly smoother, but her brain is being fried by too much Eve.</p><p>Until Eve laughs again. It’s a little louder now, but her voice still sounds worn, a little shrill, but Villanelle will take it, she will take <em>all</em> of it. Eve is laughing and she could not care if it is at her expense if she tried.</p><p>“I don’t think so, dear. You’re welcome to try again when I’m no longer married and a gigantic fuck-up.” Eve winks back, and stands up. Her cold, biting sarcasm swipes at Villanelle’s face like a swift breeze. Or first snow. Or something as equally stupid and nice. The other inmates are already walking towards the gates, and it’s <em>way</em> too soon, she hasn’t pinned Eve down yet, she wants to listen and listen. This thing between them, right now, feels like a wide open, empty field. A little freeing. Mostly frustrating.<br/>
 <br/>
“Where are you working? Did they give you a job yet?” Villanelle asks before Eve starts walking away.</p><p>“Laundry duty. Getting rid of what I can only hope is <em>period</em> blood from panties, most days.” Eve mutters. </p><p>Villanelle laughs a little while she gets up.</p><p>“Period blood. You are funny, Eve.” Villanelle smiles at her. Then, schools her expression, in a second, before saying. “I am at the Library. Reading is good when in here, yes? You should come over sometime.” </p><p>The guards are standing by the entrance to the building, calling over for them to hurry, but Villanelle does not listen. Eve is still looking at her, and there is nothing else in the world.</p><p>“Sure” Eve states, in a tone that says she won’t come over, at all. She will, though.</p><p>Villanelle is excited. She hasn’t been excited in a long time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>haha period blood am i right ladies</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>dreams. threats. library fuckery.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Red. It’s all over her hands, up through her arms. It’s thick, and it feels more alive than dead. Pulsating, hot. It has splattered on her face. Some has caught onto her mouth, and it tastes irony, like she licked a rusty chainlink. It’s going to start thickening even more, soon. She aches to wash it off, to get rid of it. It’s bubbling up, everywhere now. Her legs are already sodden. The pool is rising. Spreading past her arms, up to her shoulders, her neck, and it’ll drown her in a second, she wants it <em>off</em>, wash it away, wants to bring back all the other colors, muted as they were. All there is now is red, and this is what she wanted, to see it, vibrant,<em>alive</em>, but she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready, it is swarming with much more than what she is capable to deal with. The contrast is too sharp, it cuts at her. The pool fills. She is rooted to the ground. It will keep filling up, and up, and it’s reached her mouth now, it’s closed tight, a thin line, desperate to stop it, needs to keep it <em>out of her.</em> The flow, that was steady before, doubles, triples, in its speed and soon it’s over her eyes and it gets inside her then. Can’t close them. All she sees is red. Dense. Viscous. Condensed. She sees, then, a blonde head. A smile full of sharp, unnatural teeth. Eyes sunken and murderous. She recognizes it as Villanelle, her hair sticking to her face with all the sweat and the blood, and she winks. As soon as she does, her face morphs, twists, and Eve stares at herself, wearing the same expression. She screams under the weight of the compactness and red flows down her throat. It tastes like self-condemnation and well earned bitterness. Like finally waking up.</p><p>Eve doesn’t wake up screaming. Her heart beats a mile a minute, and she can feel the blood pumping through. Grimaces at it. She stares hard at the iron frame of the top bunk of her bed. Because she sleeps in a bunk bed now. In prison. It’s cold. She is soaking wet from her own sweat. Her blanket was kicked down, sits by her feet. She gets up, quietly so as to not disturb her roommate. God, she hasn’t had a roommate since college. Sharing a space with someone you are not married to is unnatural to her again.</p><p>She turns on the sink that is in their cell, slowly. A little water trickles out and she catches it, cupping her hands. She drinks. It tastes like shit. There is a small plate of polished metal that serves as a mirror, right above the sink, and she catches her reflection. It’s the first time she’s really looked at herself since getting here. She watches her own face contort in repulse. </p>
<hr/><p>Eve is at the food line, trying not to be conspicuous. Tomorrow it’ll mark a week since she’s arrived here. She still waits for it to feel more real. Dreading to think what would have to happen for her to actually believe her situation.</p><p>Her turn comes, and a chunk of brown is thrown into her plate, along with some scrambled eggs. She likes the eggs, a little bit. Doesn’t enjoy it, rather than just prefers it to the unidentifiable blobs of ultra-processed shit. </p><p>Now for the hard part. She hasn’t really socialized much. Aside from staring back at the blonde Russian girl, fighting back flirts and something Eve can’t fully identify yet. Villanelle. She remembers the dream, a little dimly and shivers. How hilarious that she hasn’t felt that kind of attention from anyone in nearly a decade, if ever, and when she does it’s in fucking prison. They don’t eat together. The other women seem to be mostly content to just stare and mutter about her.</p><p>She spots her roommate sitting by one of the tables, to the back. She’s a bulky woman. She has 2 armfuls of tattoos that don’t seem to have been made from proper equipment and sanitation. Eve considers if she’d mind. They haven’t really talked yet, Eve having avoided her, and the woman seemingly happy to do the same. She decides she doesn’t really have much of a choice, decides to take the risk.</p><p>Eve sets the tray down a little carefully. The woman glances up, briefly, stiffening her upper lip. Eve just sits down.</p><p>She’s barely taken her plastic spoon to dig in to her food, and the woman- Wright? Eve thinks that’s her name. Wright glares at her and says through a mouthful, </p><p>“What you doing here huh, bacon?”</p><p>Eve doesn’t know what to say. Uh. Doesn’t know if that’s supposed to be a dig at her or some kind of.. compliment? By her scowl she assumes it’s not good.</p><p>“I-um… Do you mind?” Eve asks.</p><p>“You got some nerve, pig. Don’t fucking come here with all your garbage and act all innocent on me” Wright leans across the table with a sneer. Oh, Christ. Well, she knew it wouldn’t be easy if it got out that she used to work in American intelligence. Everyone’s gotta know. Fuck fuck. How many targets is it possible for someone to have on their back until they get blown to pieces?</p><p>“I’m- I’m sorry I’ll just-uh… Leave, then.” Eve makes to get up, but Wright cuts her off.</p><p>“Nah, don’t. You bothered bringing your skinny ass all the way over here already. Just sit there. Don’t do anything dumb, alright?” Wright continues sneering at her, showing her teeth in a semblance of a smile.</p><p>Eve eyes the correctional officers that are standing by the double doors of the cafeteria. They’re not paying attention to anything, predictably.</p><p>“Listen. Wright, is it? I know what you must be thinking, but I really don’t want any trouble, alright?”</p><p>“Oh, you don’t want any trouble. Well, you shouldn’t have gotten caught then. We know all about your little dirty past. If you come near me again, I’ll stick a shiv in your eye. How’s that for trouble?”</p><p>Eve will admit when she’s anxious. A sharpened toothbrush tearing through her eye doesn’t seem too… enjoyable, but she’s also frustrated, having this pinned on her. What good did working at the C.I.A even do her, she thinks to herself, almost wants to laugh, right on Wright’s ugly face. Giving her the promise of maybe something exciting, and then boring her to death until she snapped. And she couldn’t even relish the lack of control, the thrill, until this fucking job is giving her shit again. Fuck this.</p><p>“How the hell am i supposed to manage that? You sleep literally 3 feet away from me.” Eve grumbles, is very aware of how <em>stupid</em> she is for goading dangerous fucking women who want to kill her. Whatever.</p><p>“Figure it out. I don’t want to have to see your snarky little face, right?” Wright bites, and gets up, having finished with her tray, gripping it with white knuckles.</p><p>Eve finishes her meal alone. Well, then, Already making loads of friends. Eve’s always been a popular chick.</p>
<hr/><p>After she’s finished with her job, sticking pounds upon pounds of clothing on huge industrial washing machines, she doesn’t have much else to do. A pair of inquiring, provocative, wide-set eyes, full lips and a perky nose appear in her mind again. Christ, when did she start thinking of her like <em>that?</em> Villanelle. She’d invited Eve to the library. She hasn’t been there yet, the week passing through with her trying to escape her own mind in her chores.</p><p>Eve craves a smoke. The one she had, when she was at rec, was found in the stupidest fucking way imaginable. She didn’t trade it, she didn’t get it from anyone, she just- found it by the floor near the showers. Barely had the presence of mind to care if it had been laced with something. That’d have been the cherry on top, and Eve honestly would not care if her first experience with crack would have come to her like that. She just wanted to smoke.</p><p>It wasn’t laced with anything, just plain tobacco and other, also prejudicial toxic substances. Eve was almost disappointed.</p><p>Villanelle was weird. She wasn’t hostile. Not outright, at least. Eve had grown used to hostility. She had a little bit of the whole murderous gazing to her, but Eve hadn’t felt threatened. She still hadn’t gotten her ass beat here, but she knew it wasn’t far from happening, especially judging by her little run-in with Wright at breakfast. But Villanelle- she puzzled her. The flirting was weird, the staring was weird, the banter, the easy serenity in which they fell into it, it was all weird. The dream in which she came to her was also… weird.</p><p>She hears an announcement coming from the P.A speakers. Tomorrow is visitation day. There have been no applications for a visit to Eve Polastri. Niko would barely look at her while her case was still being judged, she can’t imagine him coming for a while, if at all. Negligence he could do, not being her priority was easy. It’s a little harder to deal with… all this, comprehensibly. Eve tries to pretend like she’s worried about it, but just doesn’t have the energy for it. You can’t run very far from yourself when you’re trapped in between harsh concrete and metal bars. She still tries, though. Still wears the ring, their ring, for some reason she can’t fathom.</p><p>So it’s either go back to her cell, face off Wright and probably get stabbed, or go see Villanelle in the library. Well, that’s settled then.</p><p>She reaches the library doors and just stares at them for a second. Preparing herself, maybe, for more Villanelle. Someone bumps into her from behind and the movement shoves her forwards, and she slams her forehead against harsh wood. Ow. This place feels exactly like high school, Eve thinks, a little bewildered. High school with higher stakes. She feels a little wave of hysteria threatening to bubble over, to make her let laugh at it all. She tones it down. Gets enough looks as is, better not to add <em>nutcase</em> to the growing pile of ‘kick-me’ signs on her back.</p><p>Eve reaches a hand up to her forehead and it’s now gracing a little bump. Okay, she’ll definitely take that over a shiv in the face.</p><p>She pushes the doors open and Villanelle doesn’t immediately jump at her. Good start. It’s quiet here, some inmates reading peacefully, while others talk at a low volume. She doesn’t see Villanelle. Do they have different shifts here? Is she somewhere else?</p><p>She walks in properly, trying to look normal while she looks for her. Can already feel eyes at her, and Jesus, that’s exhausting. The girl that’s behind the counter acting as librarian is not Villanelle- hair too brown and eyes too indistinct.</p><p>Eve doesn’t see her at any of the little tables that sit in the middle of the room. She decides to see if she’s between one of the large metal bookshelves, seeks one by one. </p><p>First one, nothing. The second and third are also void of Villanelles. In the fourth she finds two inmates who look at her instantly, a little pissed off at being interrupted, and she knows she’s probably pried on some interaction that she shouldn’t have. She ducks away quickly before they can say anything. Fifth, also nothing.</p><p>When she reaches the sixth little corridor in between shelves, she realizes a few things. Firstly, this is the last one, being in between a bookshelf and the far-wall of the room. Secondly there are people… lying on the ground. One girl has almost her entire hand inside the smaller one’s mouth and she looks sort of…pained? The other girl’s right hand is inside her pants and oh- shit. </p><p>The one on top turns when she sees the smaller girl look a little panicked and <em>of course</em> it’s Villanelle fucking some girl on the library floor.</p><p>For fuck’s sake.</p><p>The girl beneath Villanelle takes her hand out in a rush and tries to compose herself a little. They both stand up. The contrast between them is so loud it’s almost funny. Villanelle doesn’t look even slightly embarrassed. She looks plain smug, maybe a little pleasantly surprised. The girl looks between them with a little frown and Eve takes a moment to take stock of her. She has dark hair, dark brown, and it’s curly, full. A little long, very nearly as long as her own. Eve flushes deeply. What the hell. Surely Villanelle <em>wouldn’t.</em></p><p>The girl ducks past her and flees the scene. Villanelle still looks at her with a little smile. She brings her right hand- the one that was in the girl’s pants and, while maintaining eye contact, licks them, casually, in a smooth, practical manner. She’s absolutely insufferable and Eve <em>refuses</em> to be turned on. Unfortunately, the little coil that’s in the pit of her gut begs to differ. She feels embarrassed, at first, but to be honest, this woman just brings out a different, more exasperated response out of her. She wills her cheeks to stop their reddening before saying, with maybe a little more bite than it was meant to,</p><p>“Sorry to interrupt.”</p><p>Villanelle looks her up and down, pausing a bit on her hair. Oh, right. It was down. She’d forgotten. Her eyes glaze over it, a little wide-eyed, taking it all in. She's probably appreciating the real thing, now. Jesus. Eve studies her back. Her own hair is tied back in a tight bun. Her face is still a little shiny. </p><p>“Eve! I’m so glad you came!” Villanelle beams, breaking the tension as if they were in a completely different situation, and Eve wants to hit this woman, punch her right in the face. Pretends she has no idea where the hell <em>that</em> impulse comes from.</p><p>“Yeah, and I’m sorry <em>she</em> didn’t” Eve grumbles back quickly and hates Villanelle for putting her in this situation in the first place. Seriously, what the fuck.</p><p>Villanelle wipes her face with one of her sleeves (ew), and laughs, then lets out a fond sort of sigh, still grinning.</p><p>“Oh, Eve. That’s bold of you to assume that.”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>- God, I don’t want to hear it, okay”</p><p>Villanelle raises both her hands, in mock surrender. Eve leans against the wall and rubs her eyes so hard, she knows she’ll see little spots even when she takes her hands away. Anything to make the image of Villanelle and that girl get wiped out of her mind. She figures it’s just not gonna be that easy.</p><p>“I should just- I’m gonna leave-“</p><p>“No, please.” Villanelle cuts her off. It feels weird hearing her say ‘please’. It doesn’t fit with what Eve sees of her. “Stay?”</p><p>Eve glares at her.</p><p>“Hey, I did not know you were coming, today, did I? You don’t need to leave yet.”</p><p>Eve’s almost just turning around and leaving her there, until she remembers Wright’s pissed off scowl, and suddenly, a shiv to the face/neck/eyes doesn’t even seem that bad. That familiar hysteria burns at her throat, threatening to take her over. She lets it. It starts off as a chuckle, and develops until she’s almost howling with it, only barely holds it so as to not to disturb the other library-goers.</p><p>“Fine.” Eve manages, continues laughing, and now that she’s finally let it out, it’s harder to bottle it back in. She almost doubles over with it, this entire ridiculous fucking situation pushing her straight down towards that path. She’s in <em>prison</em>, and this girl who won’t stop staring at her, <em>Villanelle</em> was fucking someone who looked just like her, and she might not even make it through the day without a new hole being stabbed into her face and it’s all too much, it’s just too funny.</p><p>Eve’s a little breathless when she looks at Villanelle again. She’s frowning.</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>It sounds concerned, maybe even a bit angry, as if she knew already. Oh. Maybe Villanelle could… help her? Would she want anything in return? Eve doesn’t have shit to give her. Maybe she could keep her happy with commissary snacks or something. She doubts Villanelle would be so easily bought, though. Eve doesn’t even have her commissary money, yet anyway, was still waiting for it to drop. She would probably want something else. Eve flushes a bit. Is she at the stage of offering her body for protection, yet? Clichés aside, she could see the perks of having a prison wife, to be honest. Especially if it’s <em>her</em>. Christ, she’s completely lost it. Imagines Niko’s face if he only knew the shit storm she’s in. Giggles a bit more.</p><p>“Nothing, it’s just… Hard. Being here.” Eve sighs, still smiling.</p><p>“Is someone giving you shit?”</p><p>Villanelle takes a step forward and she looks absolutely ready to kick whoever’s ass for her, and Eve feels kind of lucky. As much luck as is allowed anyway with the whole being caught and going to prison situation.</p><p>“Listen, I uh- don’t expect you to help me, like, you barely know me, it’s fine.”</p><p>“So, someone <em>is</em> bothering you. Who is it? You can tell me, Eve. I want to help you.”</p><p>She looks sincere. Fuck it. Eve’s gonna tell her. She thinks it’s probably best to leave out the whole former cop part. Having Villanelle turn on her would be really the worst-case scenario and she definitely doesn’t need another psycho gunning for her head.</p><p>Eve looks at her for a second. Bites her lip.</p><p>“Okay, uh… So, I have this roommate. Who kind of wants to stab me in the face. And it’s making me a little stressed out, to be completely honest.”</p><p>“Who is it?” </p><p>“I think her name is Wright. I <em>think</em>.” </p><p>Villanelle hums. </p><p>“Okay. I will take care of her for you.” She says, simply.</p><p>“Why?” Eve asks before she can stop herself. “Not that I’m not like, grateful, or whatever, but why would you? I really don’t have much to offer in return.” </p><p>“Because I want to. You don’t need to give me anything.” Villanelle smiles at her. And she wants to believe it, she does. It’s just… That’s not really how things actually work, is it? Could it be just as simple as that? She doesn’t doubt Villanelle’s ability for a second, to take out who she wishes, if her confidence matches her ability in any level, Eve will probably be just fine. It’s lucky.</p><p>“Um… Thank you. I- I really appreciate it.”</p><p>“You are welcome, Eve. Now, come with me to the tables and tell me more about her so I can make a plan to take her out, hm?” Villanelle is glowing. She looks really happy to help her. Christ, what is Eve getting herself into. Assisting murder, that’s what. Well, she’s done worse, already. What’s a little assisted murder, honestly?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>umm definitely heed to the warning of graphic depictions of violence here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle was sneaky. Not managing-to-kill-someone-with-less-than-24-hours-notice-on-maximum-security-prison sneaky, though. So she tells Eve to lay low, for now, to trust her that Wright is probably bluffing about killing her in their own cell, anyway. Eve wasn’t too happy about that. Tough. She’ll live. And if she does get attacked, Villanelle taught her a few tricks that’d help her buy more time.</p><p>She knows Wright from group. She makes a plan to lure her after a session, take her to a cupboard, hang her, maybe. Villanelle isn’t <em>that</em> keen on having this being traced back to her, even though it would be nice for people to know Eve’s protected. Hm. She’ll have to be careful. She has never killed anyone like this- premeditated and carefully, was always in the rush of the moment, before. Always with guns. So impersonal. She’s slightly excited. If everything goes according to plan, Eve will trust her. She won’t need to be so distant.</p><p>Villanelle has been sort of… hatching another plan, as well. She is thrilled at having something to do, a mission, finally, blissfully, breaking the stillness of the stalemate she’s been in in the past six months. She has only Eve to thank for that. Bless her, with her pretty mouth and pretty eyes and pretty hair and even prettier laugh. Villanelle feels a little bit like a lovesick puppy. She doesn’t mind.</p><p>But yes, the other plan. With Wright out of the picture, Eve would need a new roommate. And, if Villanelle’s own smelly roommate, just so happened to also appear dead, well, they’d have no reason not to pair them together, would they? And that’d mean sleeping in the same ward, which would mean the same eating shifts, and the same shower times, and Villanelle would always, always be so close to her, then. All she has to do is kill two people. And preferably not get caught. Easy.</p>
<hr/><p>Nelson’s voice is even more grating today, but Villanelle finds she doesn’t care. She just looks at Eve and it all fades away. She darts her eyes towards Wright’s speaking frame and back, raises her eyebrows up and down suggestively. Eve looks uncomfortable, but a little amused. Good enough.</p><p>When the session ends, she doesn’t look at Eve anymore, focused on her plan. She’s good at improvising, so she left the luring part of her plan up for inspiration. Some talk about new stuff coming in, phones, other small luxuries, leaves her mouth. Villanelle asks if she’s interested, and Wright gives her an ugly smirk and she has to smile back, pretending she’s not thinking about how her eyes will be completely void of anything soon.</p><p>They reach the cupboard that Villanelle knew people used for contraband transactions, usually, that even the guards don’t touch, so filled with corruption that they are. It sits unlocked in between the large room they use for group and the main corridor of the prison.</p><p>Villanelle motions for her to enter first, and she does. She looks at her bulky frame. Tries to figure if she carries weapons around, thinks it’s unlikely. The mandatory random searches are constant, here, she wouldn’t risk bringing it to group. </p><p>So she just jumps at her back, squeezes her neck with her arm in an unbreakable chokehold that she hasn’t had a chance in doing for <em>ages</em> and Wright squirms, chokes, spittle flying everywhere. </p><p>She thrashes, tries to break free, sending them both crashing against the door behind them. Villanelle does not break her hold, despite the pain in her back, pushing, squeezing the life out of her.</p><p>It takes a while, but she soon falls unconscious, the fight draining out of her. Villanelle continues squeezing for a few more minutes, tapping her foot, hums to a tune she had in her mind, quietly, so as to not draw any more attention. She feels alive. Is already picturing Eve’s grateful smile.</p><p>Satisfied with her work, Villanelle releases her after a while. Her eyes are sunken, still wide open. Her face looks almost purple, sort of bluish, even, and Villanelle can <em>definitely</em> see the appeal of killing so personally, so closely. It’s gratifying. After a moment, she decides to take off the woman’s long-sleeves undershirt, puts it in a makeshift noose. She searches the room for anywhere close enough and high enough for her to tie her to. She finds a hook for the brooms, figures it’s good enough. Stretches, cracks her back, smile on, and leaves the supply closet.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s rec time. The yard is inviting, a soft breeze and hot sun. The sun is another thing she misses, a lot. Having it beat down at her face is a luxury these days. It warms her, from the outside straight in.</p><p>It’s been a few days since Wright’s death, and it’s no big deal, honestly. She was a big nobody. Some women miss her, make a sort of memorial thingy for her, under the watchful eye of the guards. Villanelle stays far, but close enough to know that they think it was suicide, and that no one has reason to suspect her or anyone else.</p><p>Today she will neither run or talk to Eve. It’d be a shame, she’d be disappointed, if she wasn’t thinking of all the time she can spend with her if she manages to get this right. So she sticks to her plan. As soon as the gates to the yard open, she locks eyes with her target. She’s a small woman, this would probably be even easier. Villanelle decides to not make this one look like suicide considering the circumstances. There’s nowhere she can hang her from. There is, however, a little space in between the main building of the prison and a fence- a place she has used for… other activities, before, can attest to its privacy. </p><p>Now, to lure her in. Villanelle knows she’s an addict, can see it clearly in her sunken eyes, the way her bones jut out. Like she’s constantly starving. It’s nasty. But it’s a weakness she’ll use.</p><p>Eve’s there, too. She looks at her, a little curious, makes to get closer but Villanelle just motions to the back of her roommate’s head. Waggles her brows once more. Eve looks confused, again. It’s one of Villanelle’s favorite expressions that she does. So cute. She winks at Eve, and taps the girl’s shoulder, mutters a few things about talking to her in private, about a new shipment, and her eyes light up. Seriously, do these people not know she has never worked in contraband in here? It’s almost too easy to exploit all of their hunger for a piece of their life back. Almost sad, really. If it wasn’t so convenient. They probably would believe she worked in it, though. She probably gives off a mysterious... vibe to the other inmates. By not engaging in stupid conversations and just generally not saying a word.</p><p>Eve’s eyes follow them, narrowed. Villanelle glows further at it. Confidence boost.</p><p>They try to make their way to the little alley, unsuspicious. These guards suck. They are always so bored, lacking commitment, except for when there’s someone to beat almost to death. Well, Villanelle can’t say she doesn’t relate, to a small extent.</p><p>When she’s sure none of the other inmates are looking at them (besides Eve, Eve can look all she wants), they reach the place. Villanelle smiles at the woman when they get there. Doesn’t even remember the name of the person she’s about to kill. </p><p>The girl is looking at her, expectantly. Villanelle calculates where she can stab her so it’s not messy enough to stain her own clothes, so it’s not loud. She likes a challenge. Her shiv almost burns through the waistband of her pants, where it’s tucked away for now.</p><p>She reaches up with a hand towards the girl’s mouth, to silence her, but does it so gently, so it could be mistaken as something else entirely. The girl is a little wary, but doesn’t seem suspicious. Villanelle watches her gaze become heavy-lidded. Poor thing.</p><p>Villanelle goes behind her, then, and the girl’s breaths are heavier now, too. Her hand is still at her mouth. She takes out the shiv, silently, and from the girl’s shoulder she sees Eve, poking her head around the edge of the building. The girl tries saying something then, and Villanelle works quickly, holding her still with her left hand, and slicing the sharpened end right across her throat with her right, still looking at Eve. It’s not super sharp, so she has to use extra strength, the muscles at her forearm jumping, making her snarl a little bit at the strength she needs to pull of to simply cut the <em>life</em> out of this girl. She makes something akin to a shriek, loud, soon turning into gargling. But Villanelle’s hand keeps most of it from reaching the ears of anyone unwanted. The blood sprays forward with the force of it, and some of it catches in her sleeve, the liquid hot.</p><p>She only wishes the whole thing was quiet enough so she could hear the sharp, cutting gasp that Eve makes just a little better. Oh, well.</p><p>Villanelle drops the girl to her ground. Her left arm, the one used to muffle the now dead girl at her feet, is a little stained. Had it not been for Eve, it would’ve been a seamless kill, for sure. Definitely wouldn’t have been so damn <em>enjoyable</em>, though, so she’ll take it.</p><p>Eve is not peaking around the corner, anymore. She stands at the mouth of the alley, staring. Her eyes dart quickly between Villanelle’s bloodied blade and the girl’s corpse. Her mouth is gaping, open. Her eyes look, disbelieving, and yet, and <em>yet</em>- Villanelle finally sees a glimpse of the look the other woman was sporting the first time they met. It’s cold, almost… hungry. Eve’s eyes stop at Villanelle’s face. Her mouth is still gaping, and her gaze is addictive. Villanelle wants it on her forever. It feels intimate, dirty. Incredible.</p><p>Villanelle grins at her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>eve has a murder kink confirmed by everyone except herself. lmao.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw for general cop nastiness. it ain't pretty.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eve’s dreams get worse. Villanelle almost always appears in them, now, with a bloodied, bruised smile. Her face consistently morphs into her own. Sometimes there’s the drowning in blood thing. Sometimes they touch- slicking blood all over each other, arms and necks and legs. Frequently, Villanelle licks her clean of it, and her tongue comes away red. The blood is always warm. It always has a distinct smell- something rotten, decadent. Sometimes there are other fluids, and they always become pinkish. Eve hasn’t managed to look her in the face properly since the incident. She still doesn’t wake from the dreams screaming, but her body sweats, and now it’s accompanied with a shameful wetness between her thighs. </p><p>She misses being able to sleep a full night, no worries, no blood-soaked dreams to haunt her. No Villanelle to taunt her, awake or asleep. Eve rises from her mattress, kicking the sheets down. Villanelle breathes shallowly on the bed above her. She speaks softly, breaking the still silence of their breaths in the cell,</p><p>“Another one?” </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You aren’t.”</p><p>After Villanelle killed those two girls, they had been placed together. Sure, Eve was safe, now. But she definitely doesn’t feel it. She feels just as endangered, if not more. As if replacing one threat with twice as many. She knows Villanelle won’t hurt her. That’s not what she worries about. What she worries about is what they bring out in each other. What Villanelle brings out in her.</p><p>When Eve found out who was the other girl Villanelle murdered, and to what intent, she was… stunned. The fact that she went through the trouble, that she went to S.H.U, which was very, very ridiculous and cruel to a person, just so they’d have more time together, it... It was a lot to deal with. Eve hadn’t really dealt with it. She tried not to think of it. It was easier, since Villanelle wasn’t around anymore, but not by much. It’s hard scrubbing off a memory of a person’s eyes losing their light right in front of you. Seeing their soul sink straight in, never to return. And her smile afterwards, as if to say, <em>“Aren’t you proud? I did this all for you”</em> like a cat bringing her a mess of feathers and butchered flesh like a gift. It was especially hard to escape.</p><p>But now, she’s here again. Eve hears the rustle of movement, and Villanelle jumps down from the top bunk. She gets a cup, and fills it up. Eve watches the way the dim light dances across the back of her arms. Her hair is loose, like when they first met. It feels like longer ago than just short of two weeks.</p><p>Villanelle extends the cup to her, a peace offering. Eve takes it. They haven’t really talked about any of it. Eve avoids her during the day, tries to do so during the nights. Villanelle sits down in the floor, her face eye-level with Eve’s knee. She’s at a safe distance away, but still stares at her. She hasn’t stopped looking. Eve wished many times she could make her stop, afraid of what she’d see. They look like they’re about to talk. Eve wants desperately to still be asleep.</p><p>“You’re right. I’m not sorry” </p><p>Eve scoffs.</p><p>“What, Eve? I was supposed to just let you get stabbed, hm? Let you die?”</p><p>“No- You know what, I know I technically asked you to kill Wright. That’s not the problem, here.”</p><p>Villanelle looks absolutely clueless.</p><p>“Then what the hell is the problem?”</p><p>“The <em>problem,</em> Villanelle, is that you- you butchered that other girl without even blinking, for petty reasons. For me. That’s the fucking problem.”</p><p>“How is that a problem? I spent a week in solitary, got out, and now it is alright. Now you don’t need to worry about people wanting to hurt you. Now we are closer.”</p><p>“Well, maybe I’m worried about other things. Like what happens when we are <em>closer</em>. Like how much blood is in my hands. How much I wish I could take it back, put it right back where it belongs. Maybe I-“</p><p>“Oh, please.”</p><p>“What?” Eve bites.</p><p>“That stuff might work on your husband, Eve, but I am not so gullible, yes? I saw your face when I’d killed her. You liked it. There’s no shame in it.”</p><p>“Of course there’s fucking shame in it, it’s a human <em>life</em>”</p><p>“So what? Your life is worth more. Why won’t you accept that maybe you deserve to have what you want? Because you <em>want</em>, Eve, I’ve seen it. I know you do.”</p><p>“You hardly know me.”</p><p>Villanelle’s face softens, like she’s in on a joke that Eve isn’t.</p><p>“I know you enough.”</p><p>Eve fumes. Her breath comes quicker. Eve can’t afford to <em>want</em>. She’s not like Villanelle. She has a conscience, and she has- What? What does she have at this point? A shitty job earning her a few cents an hour? An empty, lifeless cell, no cards, no letters? Her wedding ring signifying a union that she couldn’t stand even when she <em>wasn’t</em> incarcerated? A death-grip on to her own deteriorating, if not completely destroyed moral compass?</p><p>“Fuck off. I’m not <em>like</em> you.”</p><p>Villanelle looks a bit taken aback, and Eve almost regrets the words, but then remembers how easy it was for Villanelle to slit that girl’s throat right open.</p><p>Villanelle’s face has never looked colder, expressionless. She barely blinks.</p><p>“For someone convicted for a violent crime, you certainly have a lot of moral high ground to speak from, Eve. Remember, I didn’t make you do anything to get you here. You got here all by yourself.”</p><p>And then she’s standing up, hoisting herself up the bed again. </p><p>Eve keeps staring at where she sat. </p><p>Honestly, fuck Villanelle, trying to make her come to terms with parts of herself that Eve has spent an entire lifetime suppressing. She doesn’t get to just- waltz in, and fuck it all up. All the days of convincing herself that she’s normal, just like everyone else. Learning the motions, settling down. Keeping her interests in a mask of a hobby, of some professional interest. Deep down, she knows it isn’t true. Villanelle hadn’t fucked anything up. Eve had done that all by herself. A momentary lapse- a giving in to the temptation, to the sheer need for something <em>more</em>, and her entire life is gone to shit. It was her own doing.  </p><p>The week that Villanelle spent in solitary hardly managed to make these thoughts more palpable to her, if anything, they festered, from the place where they were buried. Like manure, rotting and accumulating energy, stinky, disgusting thoughts. Leaving her with it. She dreads to think of what will grow out of it.</p><p>Eve tries to go back to sleep. She manages to get very few hours in until the alarm rings her straight out into the world again.</p>
<hr/><p>Villanelle gives her a little space, after their little midnight confrontation. If she didn’t knew better, Eve would think she was hurt. She can’t imagine being able to hurt Villanelle, but the way the woman keeps offering herself up to Eve, she almost has reason to believe otherwise. What does she want with her? Why can’t Eve pretend for just a little longer? It is exhausting, trying to keep these… impulses out, and they all insist on barreling down further, encouraged by everything around Eve. <em>Especially</em> Villanelle. </p><p>Eve keeps up with her routine, feeling more like a corpse than anything as she loads up another washing machine. Just wants to stop thinking. She hasn’t slept properly in what feels like ages. She feels the edges of her sanity blur. Sleep deprivation is the lesser of her problems.</p><p>The other inmate who was in the laundry shift with her, a young, dark-haired girl shifts uncomfortably, looking towards the door of the room. Eve follows her eyes. Two guards saunter in. </p><p>“Mandatory random search, inmates. Hands on the wall.”</p><p>Ugh, Jesus. Eve doesn’t have anything on her, obviously, but still dreads this situation. The debasing, wandering hands of the guards make her sick to her stomach. More to add to the list of shit she has to put up with, now. It’s honestly getting too long.</p><p>The girl complies quickly, wordlessly. Probably used to it by now. The gesture shouldn’t strike Eve, but it does- she can’t imagine just being in this helpless position for long enough for it to feel routine. She can’t handle being this impotent again, trapped, in normalcy and boredom, and humiliation. It makes her want to scream. Tear her hair out. Go into a right fucking fit, right in front of these dangerous, power hungry people. It just isn’t fair. She’s not meant to be here. No one should be here. She doesn’t move. Keeps staring at the clothes that are in her hands. The indignation bubbles inside her, close to a burst.</p><p>“New girl. What the fuck are you waiting around for?” One of them barks at her. She stays perfectly still, except for the breaths that are moving her whole body now. Deep breaths. In, out. She tries to count to ten.</p><p>“Hey! Are you deaf or something? I said get your hands on the fucking wall-“ One. They step closer, and Eve hears a rustle of fabric. Two. A little whoosh, and knows they probably have the extendable baton ready, if she won’t move.</p><p>Eve turns, sees the weapon. <em>Three</em>. Everything happens <em>very</em> quickly, then. She unleashes a loud roar of pure, unadulterated rage and jumps at the guard. Releases all of her anger, all of her ferocity, straight at the fucker in front of her. He doesn’t get a chance to react, face going into one of horror as she puts her entire strength behind her blows, fists and nails at his face. They go down, and she hears the cracking of bones against the floor with a dull sort of satisfaction. It’s violent and it’s messy and Eve feels fucking <em>livid</em>, and it feels like exactly what she needed. The guard’s face yields behind her fury, blows landing at his eye, his cheek, and she sees a splash of crimson from where her nails caught in his brow. Wants to batter his face right in, manages to do some nasty damage, and his nose is twisted from where she punched it, bleeding, the red flow of it running down towards his mouth and-</p><p>The other guard jumps at her, slashes at her shoulders and neck with the baton, and Eve gives a sharp cry at it, the pain soaring through her body. She falls sideways, away from the guard and tries to cover her head from the blows that keep coming. </p><p>Eve feels nothing but the cold, hard floor, and the stinging, blunt force of hits all over her body.</p>
<hr/><p>When Eve wakes up, she’s greeted by more pain. Great. Her ribs scream at her. She takes a moment, not moving. Not even opening her eyes. She feels the burning sensation behind her eyes that warns her of tears, and lets them come. Does not have the strength, or the desire, to keep them away. She makes no sound except for her ragged breathing.</p><p>Eve opens her eyes, and through the haziness, she looks at the concrete wall in front of her. It’s stained, dirty. Made even uglier by the blur of tears.</p><p>Eve smells something foul. Turns her head a little, trying to identify the source. A dirty sink/toilet combo stares at her through the other side of the room. She wishes she hadn’t regained her senses. </p><p>When Eve closes her eyes again, she can almost hear the dull sound of her body hitting<br/>
rock bottom. There’s nothing inside her besides tiredness. There’s no one else around. No need to pretend. Here, there is no more need for anything.</p><p>The tears stop. She lays on the ground for so long she ends up falling asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>we really in it now folks. :D how long is eve going to be able to resist herself???? who knows. i do. but i won't tell u yet. sorry babey!!!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello friends! sorry for the wait. depression was kicking my butt again. i've elected to ignore it and write a lil more after some struggle :T so here's another chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This time, she doesn’t dream at all. Or maybe she did, and it’s simply faded by pure exhaustion. She rouses, still on the ground. There’s a pounding on the metal doors. Oh. That’s what that sound was. </p><p>“Polastri! Lunch!”</p><p>Eve raises her head a little as the metal partition slides. There’s a tray there, with food. Eve can’t imagine being compelled to get up ever again. There are new aches in her body now, not from the beating, but from sleeping in the polished concrete floor. They’re on her back, on her neck. She’s getting way too old for this crap.</p><p>“If you don’t get up to get it, I’ll just throw it on the floor. You can lick it off the ground all you want. Make this as pleasurable as it can be for me.” </p><p>Eve makes to get up, the eyes of the guard following her movements. They sparkle with amusement. Eyes of someone toying with their food because that’s the only kick they ever get from their own pathetic miserable life. She has no energy for it.</p><p>As soon as Eve does get up, with some difficulty, the guard throws the tray to the ground. She sees him sneer through the little window of her door. </p><p>Eve meets his stare. Cold, empty eyes meeting sadistic satisfaction. What the fuck else does this person even want from her. She has nothing more to give.</p><p>He smiles. “Enjoy your lunch!” And closes the metal partition with a loud clang.</p><p>Well. What a complete fucking dickhead. She wishes Villanelle was here so she could kill him for her. Or she could just kill him herself. She has nothing else to lose. Nowhere else to hide. No one else to perform for. Her cell is tiny, and smelly, and she feels very tired of running. The walls are too suffocating for her to pretend like she’s anyone else. Vile, self-centered. Violent. Egotistical.</p><p>Eve picks up some of the food that’s scattered on the floor, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Puts them back on the tray. Time to take stock of what she does have. There’s a loaf of pre-sliced bread that’s starting to mould. More unidentifiable brown blobs, that are probably supposed to be some kind of meat. No eggs. She feels positively opulent.</p><p>The cafeteria eggs appear her mind, along with a little twang on her chest. </p><p>She picks up the bread and looks at it for a while. She’s not even hungry. Decides to take a small bite. Not like there’s much else to do.</p><p>It tastes extremely bland. And stale. Abandons the idea to eat.</p><p>Okay, so. She can’t eat. There’s nothing she can do for her own body right now, the  full medical examination with x-rays and bandages and all that far away enough to be kind of laughable. Definitely unattainable if that dickhead’s mood is worth anything. What else can she do?</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>She lays on the bed, now, wincing at her ribs. Looks up at the concrete ceiling. It’s grey. It’s stained. Do these people ever clean anything? Is all the maintenance work on this fucking prison from the inmates themselves? It’s so pathetic. It makes her even more tired.</p><p>There are no windows. She can’t tell what time it is, or what it looks like outside. Her sense of time is already warped from the beating. From her dozing. Going only by the “lunch” that was just brought in though, she must’ve been here for like, a day. The whole… situation at the laundry room was at late afternoon, yesterday. Right? Christ, she must’ve slept on the floor for almost a full day. That explains a lot.</p><p>Eve walks around her cell, leaving the tray on her bed. There’s space enough for her to take 7 steps until she reaches the opposite wall. The ceiling is too high for her to reach, but not by that much. The sink and toilet still stink. </p><p>She lays back down, carefully, mindful of her wounds. Sighs out.</p><p>It’s boring.</p><p>How long… do they plan on keeping her here? She could manage a few days. Probably. But aggravated assault on a fucking <em>guard</em> must have earned her more time than that, surely. </p><p>Can they just… leave her in here forever? It’s not like anyone would stop them. What if she just wastes away, the rest of her life, in a room that isn’t even 70 square feet in space. Fuck. Fuck. She fucked up, real bad.</p><p>Eve starts laughing. Not in a desperate manner, choked up with fear like in the library. She just laughs. Freely. Until a particularly sharp twinge of stinging pain jabs at her, the laughter turning into a soft gasp. She can’t even laugh anymore. The idea makes her want to crack up again, but she holds it in. Brings it down to just little amused huffs. </p><p>The dim ceiling lamp of the room is the only source of brightness here. She wants to sleep again. So she does.</p>
<hr/><p>After that, the days start blurring together. Her new routine is defined. She wakes up with a bang on the door. Sometimes they throw the tray down to the floor. Other days she manages to get up in time, taking it from the guard’s hands with a hard grip. She has no idea how many days she’s been here. Figures she should’ve been counting, but was too busy doing nothing. It’s all still, so very painfully <em>boring</em>. </p><p>Sometimes they take her out to shower. She hates it, every time. They cuff her to a railing and let her have a few minutes with the biting, frosty water. Supervised. Eyes boring at her naked back. Female guards, for the shower, who hold no more consideration for her decency, for her dignity, than the male ones.</p><p>The urge to laugh has subsided, mostly. Sometimes she just stares at the walls. Feels herself sink into the bad feelings. Really, truly, feel them. It does no good. She usually decides to masturbate to get the edge off on those days. And if she thinks of Villanelle’s bloodied fingers, of her cutting-edge grin, full pink lips, and blonde hair, well that’s not anyone’s business. And if she lets the nails of her left hand grow long, long enough for her to scratch her own leg until blood spills out, licking it onto her mouth while she comes, well, that’s not anyone else's business, either.</p><p>Eve’s starting to make progress in the makings of a friend. The shouts and screams of panicked women around her are too deafening, most days. They don’t hold any pattern. Sometimes they stop, and she’s rewarded with silence that is just as ear-splitting.</p><p>She’s decided to not eat the disgusting blobs, at all. They don’t smell. The weird consistency in them makes her think that it’s probably not animal at all. Incapable to rot. So she accumulates some. Draws a little abstract art thing on the wall opposite her bed. It looks like someone diarrhea-blasted the wall. It makes her laugh. She likes it. She talks to it, when the silence is too thick. </p><p>She talks of Niko, and her life before this, and it starts to feel like she’s always been here, like that past Eve is nothing but a story, so far away. The isolation, the routine, is truly making her feel like there’s nothing outside of this room. Of shit food, and barely breathable air, and cold shitty showers. The days where she’d come home after a long day of work, take a glass of wine into their bathtub, put on soft music and doze for a while might as well have happened to a completely different person.</p><p>She makes do with what she has. And she has very, <em>very</em> little. Everyday drags on, only to become the same as the day before.</p>
<hr/><p>One day, the guards don’t show up with her breakfast as usual. Her body clock started to get used to the time they’d show up with food. They’re late. Her stomach rumbles. Something’s off. She fidgets a little, sitting on the bed, back to the wall. Looks at the red metal door. Waiting. Are they going to starve her now? Eve expected it, honestly- by the way she’s been treated, they don’t have a habit of rewarding violence against guards with special treatment. It could be classified as special, she supposes. Just not good. </p><p>Her body hurts less now. She figures her broken rib is healing by itself by now, and that, if anything, gives a sort of awareness of how long she’s been here. It still hurts when she sleeps, when she takes too deep of a breath, but it’s manageable now. She hasn’t seen what she looks like in ages. Hasn’t seen the sky. Or felt natural air on her lungs. It’s no way to live. She doesn’t feel alive. </p><p>The door clangs. The lock is sliding out. It opens, and Eve wonders if she’s imagining it. A guard appears, the same that sometimes feeds her. He looks at the mess she made on the wall with a disgusted look.</p><p>“Move it, Polastri. You’re getting out.” He grumbles.</p><p>Eve’s definitely imagining it. She hasn’t had a hallucination this vivid before, though. It’s impressive what the brain conjures up when it’s starving for stimulation. She follows him out.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s only when she’s outside, looking to the main building of the prison, feeling the cold night air on the back of her neck that she thinks she might not be imagining it. She breathes deeply in, ribs be damned, and feels it fill her lungs. The pain feels sweet this time. She’s not shackled like when they took her to shower. She ignores the guard that’s leading her out and extends her arms for a second, closes her eyes. </p><p>She’s actually outside again. The crickets are singing and the air is chilly and she can feel goosebumps raise in her arms at the sheer overstimulation of her senses. Something so simple, so essential. Finally not being deprived of her again.</p><p>Eve lets the feeling of pure joy fill her up, from head to toe. There’s no place for something like regret, out here. It’s all been leading up to this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if i'm projecting some of my kwaranteen feelings into eve in this chapter u surely didnt notice it &lt;3 hopefully the next few will come out somewhat quicker, as i'm getting into the mood again, but i can't legally promise anything! thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle recovers her breath, looking down at the mess she made of the woman beneath her. She slides out of the leather straps, puts the toy on the side of the bed. Leaves it to go to the little mini-fridge on the kitchen area of their room, to get some water. She’s still riding out the waves of the heist, earlier today. One of the thick wads of cash is still on her bedside table, and if she looked at it longingly while thrusting into Nadia, letting the rush of the conquest take her over, no one was around to see it. </p>
<p>They are laying low for now, a sort of refractory period after a heist. No overtly-public sightings, no traveling, just- sort of waiting around for Konstantin to manage laundering the money correctly. It sometimes feels stifling, but she can still spend her money. Usually she kills this time with some light shopping, not anything too overt yet. Nice food. Great clothes. Good sex. Shitty movies.</p>
<p>She leaves the half-full water bottle by the table, while Nadia looks at her. She is still a little breathless, face flushed from her orgasm. Villanelle does not expect it when she says,</p>
<p>“Are you okay?”</p>
<p>She looks at Nadia in confusion, like she doesn’t understand the question. Nadia takes a sip of the water.</p>
<p>When she puts it back down, she makes to get closer, continuing.</p>
<p>“Do you want me to…-“</p>
<p>“No. No, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>Villanelle doesn’t usually let other people touch her in these encounters. She prefers to take, take, like she does with the money. Likes making her partners gasp for her, letting them feel her. Not letting them retrieve the favor. It’s enough for her.</p>
<p>Villanelle sits back down on the bed, it being thankfully big enough for her to not make more contact with Nadia. She must realize the unwillingness, is a little awkward at it. She shouldn’t be. Villanelle isn’t awkward. Nadia’s making this awkward. She bites her lip.</p>
<p>“Why do you never let me?”</p>
<p>Villanelle lies back down, sighs out, closes her eyes. This part, she is not so fond of. Nadia’s fine for the fucking- she makes pretty noises, and she is easy, but not too easy, and she knows the details of their work. But this part, how she sometimes lets the neediness get to her afterwards, is becoming a theme. Villanelle does not have the time. If she was looking for a cuddle she was really barking up the wrong tree.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to. It’s really fine.”</p>
<p>She can still feel eyes boring into her, the pleasant place she was in, darkness and solitude, being interrupted. Villanelle opens her eyes again, comes back to the bedroom, and Nadia. It’s too disruptive. She’d like to leave now. If it was somebody else she’d get to just leave. But as is, they still need to stay in the same space for now.</p>
<p>“Oksana. You don’t need to… hide. From me. I want to- to know you. You don’t let me.”</p>
<p>Villanelle barely maintains the urge to leave her, leave the hotel, laying low period be damned. Instead, she grits her teeth.</p>
<p>“I am not <em>hiding.</em> I just don’t want you to. Will you leave it?” Villanelle bites. “I’m tired.”</p>
<p>Nadia looks unconvinced and a little hurt and Villanelle honestly couldn’t care less. This is sort of new, the inquiring. Other times she seemed just vaguely uncomfortable at the lack of intimacy, Villanelle figures. Not confronting it. Villanelle wishes she’d go back to that.</p>
<p>“Fine.” Nadia concedes, obviously tired as well. Thank God for Villanelle’s glorious strap game, once again.</p>
<p>She turns the light of the room off. Is welcomed by pleasant darkness, its presence cool on her skin. Nadia’s words irk her. She doesn’t get to demand that from Villanelle. No one does. She doesn’t do that kind of intimacy. People should just be fine with it. It is none of their business.</p>
<p>The sheets rustle at their movements, settling down. It’s a little awkward. Why does Nadia have to make this awkward?</p>
<p>There is a period of silence in which Villanelle honestly believes that she can move past this topic, bury it somewhere, leave it there. Not because she’s <em>hiding</em>. She just doesn’t want to-</p>
<p>“I know you will let someone in eventually. I feel it when you touch me. You fuck like someone who would rather be… Like someone who would rather be making love.”</p>
<p>Villanelle does leave the room, then. </p>
<p>She takes the cash, puts on the first items of clothing she can find, pointedly ignoring the dark, and leaves. She’s honestly surprised at her own restraint. She should just throttle the woman right there. Villanelle doesn’t look at anyone from the team for a week afterwards.</p><hr/>
<p>Eve is still ignoring her. It’s fine if it takes some time for her to come around. For her to see the obvious attraction, the obvious compatibility. The way they are so alike. It doesn’t matter if it takes Eve weeks, if it takes her months. It feels inevitable in a delicious sort of way. Can finally identify what it was that bound them together, ever since the first contact- fate. Fortune. Karma. Other silly things that Villanelle has never had the time for.</p>
<p>They have all the time in the world in here. Villanelle can wait.</p>
<p>It’s only when Eve doesn’t come back at the end of the day, to their cell, that she realizes something might be wrong. Eve always comes back. She has to. They are closing the doors, lights out for the day, and Eve is not back. She paces the cell.</p>
<p>A guard passes by and Villanelle gets his attention, with a sharp psst. He jumps a little bit and somewhere in her mind she finds it funny. The feeling is a little numbed by her uneasiness and she wonders at Eve’s influence not for the first time, and definitely not for the last.</p>
<p>“Where is Eve? She is supposed to be here.” </p>
<p>She can’t see the face of the guard very well. She squints, trying to figure what he knows. It’s useless.</p>
<p>He spits in the ground next to her feet, and continues walking. Gross.</p>
<p>Villanelle stares at the spit for a while. She doesn’t sleep very well that night.</p><hr/>
<p>The next day, as she waits on the shower line, there’s gossip. There always is. Villanelle usually catches little tidbits, anything that can serve her. Mostly she just tunes it out. Today, though, they talk of something of interest. The only thing of interest. </p>
<p>“Looks like they got her. Battered the shit out of some guard, in the middle of the laundry room. Wish I could’ve seen it.”</p>
<p>They snicker. Villanelle pushes herself off the wall. Her body lured into any possible trace of Eve. One of them eyes her, a little warily, but continues,</p>
<p>“It was about time she got what she deserved. I mean, that little shit is no good, I knew it.”</p>
<p>The woman runs the towel through her hair. Another one smirks.</p>
<p>“She can rot in there for all I care.”</p>
<p>At this, Villanelle interrupts. Overtly casual.</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>“That little cop bitch. Who else?”</p>
<p>Wait. What. Cop?</p>
<p>“Yeah? Do you have a fucking hearing problem or something?”</p>
<p>Oh. She’s said that last part aloud, then. Cop. Eve. There’s no way. And she’s in solitary…?</p>
<p>“Eve? Eve Polastri?”</p>
<p>They look at her like she’s a bumbling idiot, don’t respond. She’d feel like one, too, if she cared. Probably.</p>
<p>“She better choke on the shit food they got over there. Serves her right.” One of them says, and Villanelle’s had enough.</p>
<p>She pins the girl to the opposite wall with a forearm to her throat. “Shut the fuck up.” She snarls, leaning into her, but speaking loudly enough to be heard by the others. “Do not talk about her. Or you’ll have to deal with me, yeah?”</p>
<p>She hadn’t thought to strike a commotion but now every single woman in the room, in various states of undress, stares at them, startled at the dull sound of a body hitting the wall. The girl’s friends look like they’re about to step in, when Villanelle feels her bare arm being roughly pulled back by someone.</p>
<p>“Astankova! Cool it. Get your ass clean like everyone else.” A guard grits out, squeezing her shoulder harshly.</p>
<p>She looks at the women with absolute death in her eyes. If they come for Eve, they’re coming for her. The message better be clear as day. They can only try taking her out. In fact she encourages them to, and she hopes it’s evident by the look on her face. The guard keeps her eye specifically on Villanelle.</p>
<p>When Villanelle gets her turn at the shower, it’s gleefully far away enough from the view of the officer, at some attempt of modesty. She’s probably forgotten about her by now. Villanelle takes the extra toothbrush she had in her bag, and breaks it in half, in such a way that it’s sharpened just enough. Just enough to intimidate.</p>
<p>She gets out of her own shower cubicle, slinking down the little aisle. Thanks god for selected shower-times, keeping the bathroom the opposite of cluttered. She can go into whichever shower she wants. Has used the perks of it before. Not like today, though.</p>
<p>Villanelle parts the curtain open to the shower of the girl that stood in the spot in front of her on the line. One of the smack-talking ones. She tries to scream and Villanelle punches her in the left cheek before she can utter a single sound except a dull huff, swallowed by the sounds of a dozen other shower-heads.</p>
<p>She takes the girl’s hair and pins her naked body to the wall. Raises her other hand, makeshift shiv in place. places it by her throat, digging slightly in.</p>
<p>Villanelle tuts at her panic-stricken face.</p>
<p>“You better have listened to me. I don’t fuck around, you know. If I hear you or one of your crackhead friends talking about Eve Polastri again…”</p>
<p>Villanelle grins at her. Takes the shank and lets it dent the woman’s collarbone, slicing, the dull sort of edge making the movement much more languid, breaking the skin. She still doesn’t break the eye contact, not even to watch the blood slowly seep out of the cut. She’s making a point here.</p>
<p>“Well. It won’t be pretty.” She finishes, and slams the woman’s head back against the wall by her other hand, and leaves the shower stall, returning to her own.</p>
<p>Well. Now that that’s out of the way. </p>
<p>She takes the little time that’s left to wash her body, at least. The encounter registering clearer in her mind. So. Eve’s the infamous cop. Well. It’s just… a surprise. As much as it also isn’t. The new information simply slots into place. </p>
<p>Villanelle understands her better now, while also leaving exactly enough of it out for her curiosity to thirst for. The reluctance, for once, is understandable, now. Of course Eve was reluctant. She probably never thought she’d end up here. She probably was exactly as Villanelle pictured, normal, common. Stale. Boring. Until she wasn’t. It’s thrilling. Villanelle is not one to not give herself some credit where it’s due. She hopes Eve is enjoying the consequences of her own actions. She deserves the credit, too.</p>
<p>Villanelle washes her body and doesn’t try to keep the pictures of Eve decimating that guard from her mind. They make her smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>does this count as protectiveness 😳</p>
<p>this one was tough and i'm still not too happy about it but  like...  it be like that sometimes...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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